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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686590">The boy, any boy.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusInHell/pseuds/VenusInHell'>VenusInHell</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Chan’s a whole ass weirdo but who isn’t but really he’s super weird in this one, Hyunjin also loves being watched, Hyunjin loves Chan, Imagine 1980s vibe ok, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, explicit - Freeform, mentions rape and rape fantasies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:53:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusInHell/pseuds/VenusInHell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eyes were...closed. Only slightly, though. When he stretched out his hand to the boy and slightly, very carefully touched the eyelid, it would slide up unresistingly and expose an iris-less eye like that of a demon. But this person, this boy, he was no demon. He was no demon, no angel, just a boy. The boy. Any boy.</p><p>Hyunjin likes Chan. Chan doesn’t like anybody. Hyunjin gets hard.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The boy, any boy.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was bored, the story doesn’t make sense but I like it anyway. I should’ve made it longer, but it was just for fun. </p><p>Enjoy, or don’t.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eyes were...closed. Only slightly, though. When he stretched out his hand to the boy and slightly, very carefully touched the eyelid, it would slide up unresistingly and expose an iris-less eye like that of a demon. But this person, this boy, he was no demon. He was no demon, no angel, just <em>a</em> boy. <em>The</em> boy. <em>Any</em> boy. The way he was stretched out on the floor, torso exposed because he was not wearing a shirt, seemed a little staged. He looked like an abandoned marionette, which he was, eventually. He wasn’t sure if he was satisfied with the position the boy was lying in, on his belly, head turned to the side, facing him, and his right leg tucked and his knee touching his breast so his butt reached into the air a little. No, he wasn’t satisfied with seeing him like that. Maybe he wanted to move him, push him to the side a little or roll him onto his back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was looking down at him from the sofa he was lying on, wondered if the floor was cold, but when he placed his palm on it, a pleasant warmth embraced his hand. He reached out for the boy, grasping his thin, almost hairless arm, and when he tucked on it, the little marionette moved in his direction, helplessly and subject to the doll maker’s desires. His right leg came forth, his face was dragged through the pool of saliva underneath it, smearing it, the boy had been drooling like a dog while he was unconscious. He was an uninvited guest that Chan didn’t know how to get rid of. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t like referring to him as the boy the whole time. He didn’t even like calling him <em>a</em> boy. But his name, well, he had forgotten it. It’s not like he’d never known it and, having been in the same university course as him, the boy, his boy, <em>whatever</em>, he should’ve felt obligated to know his name, <em>at least</em> his name, at least his <em>first</em> name. But he didn’t. Even after that day, when the boy had approached him for the first time, even after he had told him his name, he hadn’t paid enough attention to remember it. So there he was, looking at him, not knowing how his family called him to dinner, how his friends called him when they saw him at the corner of the street, waiting for the light to turn green. He had thought about giving him a new name, a name he thought that fitted, but giving names to someone meant establishing a bond, growing attached.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t want that. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he had no choice but to call him boy, even though he didn’t like it. It was not like he could ask him for his name anyway, not now at least.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey.” He hissed. “Hey, what’s your name again?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stretched out his foot to poke the boy with it, toes digging into his side slightly, repeatedly. The boy’s body moved with it, almost like he was dancing, but there was no response. He was passed out, Chan didn’t expect a response, but it still pissed him off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well.” He retrieved his foot. ‘It’s not like I didn’t ask. Don’t be sulky later when you wake up.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned around, facing the back of the brown leather sofa. His eyes were heavy, he thought of the boy. He pouted. Sleep greeted him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he woke up, he found himself still in the same position, he hadn’t moved at all. He glanced over his shoulder, looked at the boy who was still on the floor, same position, same state, just like a dead puppet. Chan wondered how long he had slept, wondered why the boy hadn’t woken up yet, hadn’t run for his life. Maybe he had only slept an hour, maybe only thirty-four minutes. Maybe no time had passed at all. He couldn’t tell, even if he wanted. The blinds were closed, curtains drawn, but it wasn’t dark in the room. The small lamp on the coffee table next to the sofa was the only light source in the room, though. It was a warm light, Chan preferred it to cool light, and he also preferred sleeping with it than without. It almost served as a reminder that told him he couldn’t sleep forever, like he would otherwise, but that he had to get up, had to live life or do whatever he was supposed to do. Chan liked the feeling of not being able to tell whether it was day or night, he liked when he didn’t know how many days had passed since the last time he showed himself outside. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He should’ve gotten a job, should’ve gone to the job interviews. His mother had been looking after him well, but she was getting weak, she had said, she couldn’t manage coming over every three days anymore. Chan had accepted that with a nod, though he felt betrayed, and he avoided looking into the empty fridge. His stomach growled, he pressed his palm onto it, trying to suppress it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He heard a damp moan, sounds of movements from next to him. Again, he looked over his shoulder. He had woken up, the boy. His eyes were small, looked a little swollen, his lips were pouty, Chan knew he’d be sulky, even though he has told him he shouldn’t be. The boy rose to his knees, hand on his head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My head hurts, am I bleeding?” He asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No blood.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you knock me out?” He asked further.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. You fell.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan was sad about that. He was sad about a lot of things suddenly. Sad that he had to deal with the boy, he suddenly missed the position he had been in just ten seconds ago, missed the dead pupped. He was sad that he didn’t have a job, and sad his mother was not going to come over every three days to look after him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I still feel dizzy, how long did I sleep?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded. “I dreamt of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan turned around. The boy was facing him, hair pointing in all directions. Chan was lying, he had bled, but not a lot. He was surprised that he didn’t feel how the dried blood clumped together his hair, how it felt stiff and disgusting. That he had hit his head by tripping and falling over was no lie, but Chan was sad about that, too. If he had at least pushed him, but no, the culprit was alcohol, Chan’s arch rival.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you not curious about my dream?” The boy didn’t seem sad, he just looked tired.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan shook his head.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dreamt that you asked for my name.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That sure was a dream.” Chan retorted, he hated this.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it is Hyunjin,” he said. “But you know that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. I know that.” He didn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a short pause, a silence that didn’t bother Chan at all. He was staring at the boy—at <em>Hyunjin</em>, now that he knew his name he could already see the bond forming, connecting them. He wanted to cut it with scissors, cut it up into millions and millions of short threads. Hyunjin’s thick lips had formed into a satisfied, little smile, like he was the happiest person on earth. Chan wasn’t sure if he found him pretty or average. Maybe he was pretty.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, have you thought about what I told you yesterday? Or earlier? Don’t you have a clock somewhere?” Hyunjin looked about the room for a clock, in vain.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But have you thought about it, about what I said?” Hyunjin asked again, Chan wasn’t sure what exactly he was referring to. “My boyfriend, do you want to be my boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had confessed to him. Not Chan to Hyunjin, the other way around. It was two weeks ago, after their graduation ceremony. Maybe it was also four weeks ago, maybe one year ago. Maybe it was yesterday. Chan still hadn’t answered him. All he did was turn around and leave the ceremony, he didn’t even stay until the end, and then he watched a slasher movie and got hard. He sadly didn’t remember the title of the movie, only barely remembered the plot, and he had been completely sober, though he had felt super drunk, maybe even high. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t like boys.” Chan managed to say that convincingly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not true. I caught you watching porn with two guys fucking. It was in economics class in the beginning of the year, we were talking about macroeconomic factors.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There was a woman, too.” Chan didn’t remember the class on macroeconomic factors. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hyunjin shook his head, still smiling, but it was a triumphant smile. “No, there wasn’t. I know the video.” He stopped. “Macroeconomic factors are for example de- and inflation, the GDP, and monetary policy.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t want to be your boyfriend, then.” Did Chan just admit to watching gay porn? Was he feeling a little ashamed now, or did it not bother him at all?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hyunjin sighed audibly, dramatically, he exaggerated it. “But, why not?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan wondered what Hyunjin would look like with a slit throat. Would he still talk that much? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t want to, isn’t that enough of a valid reason?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan watched Hyunjin attempting to get onto his feet. He wiggled, legs like jelly, he still seemed drunk as he tried to balance his corpse—his <em>body</em>, sorry, and in the end he actually did manage to stand still. His eyes were focused at the wooden floor, he held his head again, and Chan saw him feel his hair, frowning. Had he noticed the blood? He didn’t mention it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I feel like vomiting.” He said, looking at Chan, still smiling. When would he stop smiling? “My head hurts, don’t you have aspirin?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t.” That was a lie. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan still didn’t move an inch from the sofa, still remained lying on it as he watched Hyunjin look down at himself. He moved like a snail, sluggish and slow. Chan liked it. He tried to predict his nexts moves, and when he really moved as Chan thought he would, for a second he believed he had supernatural powers. Hyunjin’s hands traced his torso, felt his sticky skin, he touched his nipples and they got hard. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where’s my shirt?” He asked, his tongue constantly wetting his lips. “Did you take it off for me?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Vomit.” Chan retorted. He didn’t care if Hyunjin vomited from the gallons of alcohol he had had inside of him when he rang the door bell to Chan’s little house. He remembered it was dark when he came over. He would’ve let Hyunjin sleep in his vomit, would’ve let him choke on it if he had thrown up again, but the smell. The <em>smell</em>. Chan had always thought he was immune against disgusting smells, always thought that smelling a dead body wouldn’t be a problem for him. But lying next to Hyunjin whose plaid shirt was soaked in yesterday’s meal turned out to be a real challenge for Chan, and in the end he couldn’t help but strip the shirt off of him. He had played with the thought of giving him another one, dressing him like a doll, but he feared that Hyunjin was going to throw up again, so he just left him like that, naked and exposed. He didn’t vomit again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You touched me, right?” Hyunjin’s smile turned into a sly grin, but he tried to conceal it, biting his lips. He had tried to sound like he wouldn’t have liked it if Chan had touched him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t.” He didn’t. Not in a sexual way. Chan wondered if he regretted it. He could’ve touched him. He could’ve shoved his cock up his ass and he would’ve faced no consequences afterwards. Maybe that was why he hadn’t touched him. If he had known that Hyunjin didn’t want it, he would’ve touched him. He would’ve taken off all his clothes, would’ve shoved his stinky, drenched plaid shirt into his mouth just for the fun of it, and he would’ve fucked him. But Hyunjin wanted Chan, so Chan didn’t want Hyunjin.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Chan.” Hyunjin gasped loudly. “You touched me, right!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan didn’t answer. He just looked at Hyunjin, looked at his tight black pants. Weren’t jeans. Hyunjin was hard. Chan’s eyes stuck to his crotch, he wondered how big he was, if he was bigger than Chan. The boy noticed Chan’s glance, he knew very well that he was aroused, but he covered himself anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, Chan.” A shy moan. “Only thinking about you touching me makes me hard. I wish I had been conscious when you did it. Don’t you wanna do it again? Ah, please help me relief myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan didn’t move. He just watched. Hyunjin was fine with it. “Do you mind?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pointed at his bulge, it was getting bigger. Chan shook his head. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A quick nod from the boy before he proceeded to open his pants, they immediately slid from his waist. He wasn’t wearing underwear. A few strokes to his cock made him stiffen up completely, only quiet panting was audible and Chan hearkened, trying to catch every sound. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t think the boy was bigger than him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The way he stood in front of the sofa, holding his dick close to Chan’s face was at least a little entertaining, he had to admit that. He’d never seen someone masturbate so close to him. Chan would’ve smiled if he wasn’t so focused on Hyun’s cock. It was pinkish, it looked happy to be touched and it was drooling. A pleased moan let Chan’s eyes shoot up to look at Hyun’s face. He had closed his eyes, opened them again, another moan as he moved his hand down his length quicker. He got onto his knees, his pants still around his feet. Not taking his hand from his cock he leaned back, resting on the warm floor. Feet up in the air, entangled in his pants, a pretty asshole greeted Chan. The boy took his cock into his left hand, again moving it up and down his length. His now free right hand searched for his hole and when he found it and tingled it, he moaned again, happily. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan watched him now tentatively, a little intrigued, but he wasn’t hard. The boy took his hand away from his orifice, moved it to his mouth to wetten his fingers, but Chan stopped him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There,” he said, pointing at the smeared pool of spit next to the boy’s body on the floor. “That. Take that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy smiled as he looked at Chan first, then at the little puddle. He plunged his fingers into it, smeared his spit here and there, making the puddle bigger until two of his fingers were soaking wet. He maneuvered them down to his hole again, spit dripped to the floor and Chan was sad about it. But his attention was again caught by the boy inserting the first finger into his hole, and while Chan blinked once, the other finger followed quickly. The boy was panting, squiggling and shifting, moving both of his fingers inside.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve been...” He moaned. “I’ve been practicing. Only...for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His fingers thrusting inside him at the same pace as his hand working his cock. He was moaning, panting, going quicker and then slower again. Chan wondered how hot the boy was inside, how his inside must’ve felt. Chan moved his body a little, moved his torso closer to the boy’s feet. One of them he grabbed and held up, the boy moaned at Chan’s touch, even if it was only his foot that was covered in a sock anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan tried to decide where to look. Did he want to see his cock? Did he want to see his hole? He saw his cock twitching from the corner of his eye, so he focused on that for now, waited for it to twitch again—and it did.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, yes!” The boy cried, his face all scrunched up, Chan now decided he looked average. He looked back at his cock, his vainy cock with almost no pubic hair, neatly shaved, he just seemed to have missed one or the other hair. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chan liked how he arched his back when he came, how his whole body started trembling when he said Chan’s name (he didn’t like this). White fluid shot out of his cock, some of it landed on his belly, some in the puddle of spit. Chan let go of his foot, but he still watched the boy collect the sperm with the fingers he’d retrieved from his hole. He put them to his mouth, licking them clean. He moved his body and knelt in front of the mixture of saliva and sperm, then plunged his face into it and lapping it up until the puddle was gone.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He smiled at Chan proudly, like he had done something wonderful, like he was waiting for a treat like a puppy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you want to be my boyfriend, Chan?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shook his head. “No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had forgotten his name again.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have twitter. <a href="https://twitter.com/VenusInHell">VenusInHell</a></p><p>I have curiouscat. <a href="https://curiouscat.qa/VenusHell">VenusHell</a></p><p>Thanks for reading, I love comments and stuff.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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